Game of Thrones AU
by Sawyer Morgan
Summary: A simple AU of what I wish could have happened, if only George R.R. Martin didn't have a penchant for murdering characters I love.


**Just a one shot that I wrote for a class. An AU version of what I wish had happened. Takes place in the Red Waste after Dany goes into labour. Apologies for any grammatical errors, I didn't edit. Enjoy!**

Dany awakens, confused. Memories of the night before, blood, screams, and flames flit around the haze that is her brain. She clutches at her stomach, reassuring herself of the safety of the baby. The tent flap flickers and sunlight streams in, momentarily blinding her. "Khaleesi?" the familiar voice of Ser Jorah Mormont comforts her. The exiled knight kneels beside her, relief evident in his face.

"What happened?" she questions in a hoarse voice, calling for Irri to bring water.

Jorah rubs at his constantly pale face as Dany drinks. "How much do you remember?" he asks. She shakes her head, white-blonde braids tangled.

"Little." She freezes, expression changing into something akin to terror. "My husband. Where is Drogo? How is he?" she demands, struggling to her feet.

Jorah carefully helps her to her feet, cautious of her stomach. "Come and see for yourself, Khaleesi."

Dany aches to run to her husband,but her stomach prevents her from any movement more vigorous than a slow walk. Her painted vest and trousers hang off of her small frame as she avoids several bushes of thorns. She exhales an irritated puff of air, trying to cover her apprehension with a smooth mask. What if her husband is not healed? What will she do? She does not want to go and live with the crones, not yet, if at all. Her mind races, remembering the festering wound on her husband's chest, delivered by an enemy's Arakah, Dany begging the witch Mirri Maz Dur to heal Drogo. Her feet kick up dust as she crosses the sand. Jorah leads her to the cliffs overlooking the sea. Her husband sits, leaning against a warm rock.

Dany approaches carefully, Jorah stays several steps behind.

"My sun and stars?" She asks in Dothraki, hints of desperation in her voice.

She waits. Jorah inhales harshly behind her.

"Moon of my life," Drogo answers. His voice, soft from disuse, causes Dany to break into tears. Jorah immediately turns away to give her privacy. Dany continues to weep, kneeling beside her husband. His large bronze hand cups her face, wiping away her tears. She quickly steels herself against her display of emotions, choosing to blame it on the baby, despite knowing how deeply she loves her husband. Tears dry, Dany leans against her husband, his hand now caresses her stomach.

They sit, watching as the sun sets over the sea. For the first time since Drogo's injury, she feels relaxed. Abruptly she thinks that she must find Mirri Maz Duur and thank her. Dany climbs to her feet, Jorah appearing suddenly to help her up. Drogo struggles to his feet, still weak, but not weak enough to allow some other man to offer assistance to his wife. Jorah backs off immediately, not wishing to provoke the Khal.

Dany and Drogo make their way slowly back to camp, avoiding the rocks and water-deprived shrubbery. At the sight of their Khal, standing and able, Drogo's bloodriders begin to cheer. The rest of the Khalasar takes up the chant until the entire column roars and shrieks. The cries wash over Dany and she breathes in deeply, accepting that this is her place, these are her people. The desire for the Iron Throne still burns brightly within, but for now, it has been quelled. A new desire eclipses the first. A desire to show the people of Westoros exactly how ignorant they are. Calling the Dothraki savages? They are more civilised than the Westorosi in every way. Community and family matter and there are no betrayals for power or money. Fools in Westoros see nothing more than the savagery that runs rampant, but does not rule the society of which she considers herself blessed to be a part.

Exhausted both physically and emotionally, Dany returns to her husband's tent. Drogo follows, refusing help from anyone in front of his bloodriders. They bid the Khal and Khaleesi goodnight, and Dany notices a look of slight disappointment on Qotho's face. Had he been hoping that the Khal would not recover? He would not have benefitted had the blood-of-his-blood died. As bloodrider, his duty would have been to return Dany to the crones and then follow Drogo into the nightlands. Qotho notices Dany watching and immediately a scowl masks the look of faint disappointment. His hand moves slightly toward his Arakah and Dany's violet eyes pierce his, meeting his challenge.

Once upon a time, she would have looked away in terror, would have run and told her brother, but no longer. Viserys is dead and she is a Khaleesi, both in name and manner. She will not back down. Qotho's eyes fall away from hers, his hand sliding away from his weapon. Dany sweeps past, white hair swinging contemptuously, tiny frame exuding scorn. Drogo, too tired to notice anything amiss, merely places a large hand on Qotho's brown shoulder before following his wife into the tent.

Dany lays back, hands pressed against her stomach. Drogo reclines next to her, weary. A small fluttering movement startles Dany. She presses her hand against her stomach again, feeling. The baby kicks. Dany nearly weeps with relief. Her husband has been healed, her child remains healthy. Drogo looks over at her as she sighs deeply, channeling her emotion into her sigh rather than bursting into humiliating tears again. "Feel your child move." Dany's Dothraki nearly perfect as she places her husband's hand on her stomach.

Emotion fills his dark eyes as he feels the small motions underneath his calloused hand. A small smile begins to spread across his stoic face. Dany smiles widely back as Drogo nods in approval. "Moon of my life," his voice quiet in the stillness. "My sun and stars," Dany's reply soft, while a slight wind rustles her husband's long black hair. The bells in his braids chime, a reminder of his strength and prowess in battle. Dany leans into Drogo, his hand in her hair, her breath light across his chest. Slowly, her breathing grows even. Drogo's breath moves her hair slightly, her braids shifting as she does. An air of content settles over the Khalasar. Their Khal healed, their power unbroken, their families together. The same stars that shine over the Red Keep shine over the Red Waste, illuminating the weeds and rocks, carefully keeping watch over the couple.


End file.
